


gold rush

by johnllauren



Series: and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates) [3]
Category: Clone High
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Making Out, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28144875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnllauren/pseuds/johnllauren
Summary: When Ponce pulls away, he keeps his forehead pressed to Jack’s, staying there. “Hey there, beautiful.” And, okay, so Ponce has always used affectionate names for him, and they got a little more romantic in nature after they started hooking up. Which is fine and normal and Jack should really be used to things like this, especially since he’s been affectionate with Ponce since they were kids.Jack blushes anyway. “Hi, Ponce,” he says, trying to hide the huge grin on his face. He fails.“Is Cleo trying to get us to go to some party tonight?” Ponce asks, not moving, keeping his forehead pressed against Jack’s and his gaze on Jack’s lips, and Jack thinks this boy is going to end him.Or, Jack flirts with some girls at a party, and Ponce gets possessive about it.
Relationships: JFK/Ponce "Poncey" de León (Clone High)
Series: and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990909
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35





	gold rush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mcflym](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcflym/gifts).



> listen. hear me out. possessive ponce  
> sorry all i write for them is smut there's fluff in this au eventually  
> title from taylor swift's gold rush
> 
> tw for mentions of drinking and alcohol. jfk does drink but it's not enough to get him drunk or even tipsy, so he is fully able to give consent to ponce when they have sex towards the end of the fic. 
> 
> written as a birthday present for my lovely s/o user mcflym. i love you happy birthday :^)  
> if you aren't them and you know me irl and you're reading this no you arent

Cleo calls him on a Friday morning as he’s walking to class. “ _Jack,_ ” she’s saying, in that voice of hers that means everything is about to go very well or terribly wrong. 

“Good morning, Cleo,” Jack says, immediately trying to figure out if he sounds guilty. 

“Guess what I just got us invited to,” she says. Her excitement is palpable, but all Jack can do is breathe a sigh of relief. So she isn’t calling to call him out on how weird he’s being or to say she somehow figured out that he and Ponce are having casual sex or to tell him how weird he's being. So he isn’t being weird after all. Paranoid, maybe. But not weird. 

“Another party?” He asks, like there was a chance they wouldn’t be going out tonight. 

“Yes!” And her voice is so loud that Jack holds the phone away from his face. 

“That’s, uh, great, Cleo,” Jack says, kicking at an acorn on the ground. 

She pauses, and Jack’s heart sinks. “You’ve been acting weird lately.” 

There it is. 

Luckily, it seems like the only thing Jack has learned from college is how to make excuses. “Sorry, Cleo, I’m just stressed.” 

“Uh huh.” She says, clearly not believing him. 

He and Ponce had promised not to tell anyone, and Jack doesn’t even know _how_ he would tell Cleo anyway. She’d think it was weird - hell, she already thinks he’s weird - and anyway aren’t you not supposed to talk to your exes about the sex you’re having? Whatever Jack and Ponce have going on between them isn’t exclusive, Jack’s feelings about the boy aside, so really there’s no reason to say anything. 

He doesn’t think he could say anything if he tried, anyway, because the thought of it makes his chest tighten and his mouth dry. 

So he makes another excuse. “I’ve got a midterm paper due on Monday for my political science class and oh my god, Cleo, it’s fucking ridiculous - 15 pages about the extent of authoritarianization or democratic backsliding in a post-communist country of my choosing, but I have to do well on it because my grade in that class is slipping and it’s a requirement for my major, so I’ve been going to the library-”

“Alright, Jack, I didn’t ask to listen to you be a nerd,” Cleo says, mercifully cutting him off. 

Jack laughs. “Gee, thanks,” he says, “I thought you cared about what was ‘up’ with me.”

“Not if it’s about _school,_ ” and Jack can hear her rolling her eyes. “Look, I’ll see you tonight, okay? And stop turning into a nerd.” 

“Okay, okay, text me the address.” Jack says, hanging up. 

The paper thing Jack told her hadn’t been a _lie,_ exactly. He does have to write a paper for his politics class, and he does _really_ need a good grade on it to save his GPA, but it only has to be four pages and the prompt really isn’t as complicated as it sounds and it isn’t due for another week. It’s still stressing him out, of course: the more time he spends on this fucking government degree, the more he hates it. But it’s what the real JFK did, and Jack’s feeling the weight of reputation and expectations on his shoulders, and it’s not like he’s ever had a choice. 

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts and quickens his pace to class.

* * *

Jack’s sitting at his desk trying to make sense of his intro to international relations homework when Ponce returns from his last class of the day. “Hey, Jacky-boy,” Ponce says as he shuts the door behind him, kicking off his shoes. 

“Hi, Poncey,” Jack leans back in his chair as Ponce comes closer, leaning down to kiss him as a greeting, resting his hand on the back of Jack’s neck, pulling him in. 

He rests his hand on the back of Jack’s neck, keeping him steady as he plays with Jack’s lower lip with his teeth, and Jack inhales sharply. Ponce smiles as he pulls away like he knows Jack is going to want more, but he leaves Jack sitting down, blushing and slack-jawed. Ponce, seemingly unaffected, tosses his backpack onto the floor next to his desk and takes off his leather jacket, draping it over the back of his own desk chair. Jack regains consciousness and shuts his mouth. 

They’ve been friends with benefits for a week, now, and Ponce still has the ability to completely destroy Jack, rendering him helpless with a fucking kiss. It’s the kind of thing that would be embarrassing if Jack didn’t love it, wasn’t obsessed with him. So Jack stands and Ponce meets him there, in the middle of their shared room. Jack standing means the height difference is reversed, so Jack is the one leaning down when they kiss again, but he doesn’t mind in the slightest. 

Ponce presses closer to him, running his hands through the back of Jack’s hair because he doesn’t cake the back in product, kissing him like his life depends on it. Jack kisses back, his own hands making their way down Ponce’s back until he can untuck Ponce’s t-shirt from his jeans. He reaches under Ponce’s shirt and then he’s holding Ponce’s waist, resting his thumbs in the belt loops of Ponce’s jeans. Ponce makes a noise that sounds nothing short of _hungry,_ licking Jack’s lips apart as if Jack wouldn’t open them for him eagerly. 

When Ponce pulls away, he keeps his forehead pressed to Jack’s, staying there. “Hey there, beautiful.” 

And, okay, so Ponce has always used affectionate names for him, and they got a little more romantic in nature after they started hooking up. Which is fine and normal and Jack should really be used to things like this, especially since he’s been affectionate with Ponce since they were kids. 

Jack blushes anyway. 

“Hi, Ponce,” he says again, trying to hide the huge grin on his face. He fails. 

“Is Cleo trying to get us to go to some party tonight?” Ponce asks, not moving, keeping his forehead pressed against Jack’s and his gaze on Jack’s lips, and Jack thinks this boy is going to end him.

“Yeah, and we’re going.”

“Jack.” 

“ _Ponce._ ” Jack says, giving him a peck on the lips. 

“Why are we going when there are so many _better_ things we could be doing?” 

“Like sex?”

“Like sex.”

Jack pouts. “Because people are going to think it’s weird if we don’t go. You know my - my reputation.”

“Jack, why do you care?”

Jack pulls back slightly to properly look at him, trying to communicate with his eyes what he doesn’t know how to say with his words. 

And Ponce gives in. Of course he does.

* * *

By 10, they’re dressed again, waiting for Cleo to tell them it’s time to leave. Jack is obsessing over his hair in the mirror, still convinced it’s going to betray what they’ve been doing for the last couple of hours, and Ponce is rolling his eyes at him from his position lying back on Jack’s bed. “Jack, it looks fine.”

“It looks out of place,” Jack insists, trying to get more gel through it with a comb that won’t go through his hair because of how much product he’s put in it.

“You washed it and put new product in. Nobody can tell I touched it,” Ponce says. 

Jack turns around to show Ponce the front of his hair, which looks extremely normal. “Well, maybe if you didn’t _pull_ it so much, we wouldn’t be having this problem.” 

“You wanted me to pull it and you know that.” 

He can’t exactly argue with that.

* * *

Despite being best friends with Ponce, Jack usually doesn’t see him much when they go to parties. Which is usually because Jack is hanging around whatever girls are hanging onto his every word. Admittedly, this is not what he wants to be going tonight, but he’s got that pesky reputation of his and he’s never been one for making waves. 

So while they’re leaving their building, Ponce keeps his arm around Jack’s waist, pulling him closer. And then they find Cleo and it changes to a subtler hand holding, nothing out of the ordinary since they’ve been doing it since high school. But Jack hasn’t seen Ponce since Cleo knocked on the door of the house holding the party. 

He’s sure Ponce is somewhere doing something - maybe beer pong because he’s so good at it, even if the beer pong crowd isn’t exactly the kind of company Ponce likes to keep. Maybe he’s drinking beer with friends from his classes, or sitting in a bedroom talking to a guy, or something of the sort. 

And anyway, it’s none of Jack’s business.

What does it matter to him? 

He doesn’t care.

What he should care about, though, is the group of girls around him. They’re fawning over him, something he still feels like he should find flattering, but it’s getting older and more annoying as time goes on. He doesn’t _feel_ like flirting, is the thing, he feels like going home and smiling at Ponce until he fucks him. 

He makes a joke, and all four of them laugh far more than is warranted. One of them, he wants to say Eleanor of Aquitaine, but all the freshmen blend together, lays a hand on his bicep. Jack smiles at her, and her face lights up, and he can’t help but feel guilty for leading on a freshman. “Now, you’re really very pretty, but you’re a little, uh, young for me, don’t you think? I wouldn’t want to corrupt the youth or anything.” 

She laughs it off like she doesn’t look absolutely crestfallen, taking a step back and a very long sip of her drink. Catherine the Great presses closer to him, though, probably spurred on by the implication he wants someone his own age tonight.

And he does. But it’s not her. 

Jack says something about needing a drink, and walks to the kitchen to find some free alcohol. Cleo’s there, holding a sparkling seltzer, and she lights up when she sees him, walking over immediately. “Jack! There you are!” It’s the kind of voice she uses when she was part of a conversation she really wanted to get out of, and Jack understands her pain completely. 

He opens the fridge to find it full of jello shots, sparkling seltzer, and beer. Jack hates beer, especially the cheap kind, but he wouldn’t be caught dead drinking anything else in front of anyone he doesn’t trust. It’s not that he likes _girly drinks_ , okay, he just doesn’t like beer, he promises. 

(He likes girly drinks). 

Jack resurfaces with a beer, popping the tab and taking a sip and trying very hard not to make a face when it inevitably tastes like shit. And then he sees Catherine the Great rounding the corner and he takes a jello shot from the fridge for good measure. 

“If it isn’t JFK,” Catherine says, moving to corner him. 

Jack does the shot and washes it down with beer. “Hey, Catherine.”

“Heard you saying you were looking for someone more mature.” 

“Oh, really? Are you thinking you fit the bill?” He asks, giving in, leaning closer to her like she has a chance. 

Catherine laughs. “You know I do, honey.” 

“Hm, I’ve heard a few things.” Jack leans so his back is touching the wall, trying to look effortlessly comfortable, and Catherine presses closer. 

“I think you’ve experienced a few things, too. Remember last time? In my car? I think I remember you saying something about a next time in a real bed.” Catherine says. 

She’s a real nice girl, and she means well, and in a perfect world Jack really is the womanizer he keeps trying to be, keeps acting like. Maybe in the perfect world Jack would be okay with her, would want to fuck her every weekend. Would want to fuck girls. Jack makes a fist with the hand that isn’t holding his beer, digging his nails into his palm to snap himself out of his head. 

“Look, Catherine, you’re a real betty, I’ll give you that.” Jack says, chewing on his lip. But Catherine lights up, and, fuck, it probably looked like he was biting his lip at her, didn’t it. “But I, er, uh. I got a lot to do this weekend, I’m sorry, I’m not in the mood.”

She deflates immediately. “Aw, Jack, you seem so stressed. Maybe you need something to help you _relax._ ” 

“Yeah, heh, maybe. Like one of those nice massage chairs.” 

“Jack, I mean sex.” 

“Someone’s desperate,” Jack says. By now, he’s used to the cat-and-mouse of flirting. It’s so second nature he almost doesn’t mind it. He’s done this with Catherine plenty of times, where one of them flirts with the clearly uninterested other, that he doesn’t even feel bad turning her down.

Thankfully, by the grace of whatever’s out there, Ponce is in the doorway of the kitchen when Jack looks up. 

“ _Jack._ ” Ponce says, and his voice is so forceful that something in Jack’s chest jumps.

“Uh, ‘scuse me for a second, Catherine,” Jack says, peeling himself off the wall and maneuvering through the room until he’s face to face with Ponce. 

“Don’t you think we’ve had enough fun for the day?” Ponce asks.

Jack shrugs. “I don’t know, Poncey, this is my first free beer of the night.”

Ponce looks at him. “Jack, we’re going back to the room.”

“What?”

“I said we’re leaving.” he says, grabbing Jack’s free hand and heading toward the exit.

It’s weird, sure, but Jack wasn’t having a good time and Ponce is _hot_ when he’s demanding. 

They don’t speak. After they round the corner the house was on, the noise of the party fading away into the night, Jack says, “fuck, thank you,” and finally exhales. Ponce doesn’t respond, and doesn’t say anything at all until they’re back in their dorm room, the door shut behind them. 

“What was that?” Ponce asks, voice wavering slightly like he’s fighting to keep it steady. 

“What?” Jack responds, more confused than anything. 

“The flirting.” 

Jack laughs, but it comes out fake. Clipped. “Oh. Hah, you know me, JFK, big womanizer, always chatting up the girls,” he says, but Ponce does know him, and that’s not how he is. Not really. 

Ponce takes a couple steps closer to him, and then Jack is acutely aware of the way he is a foot from the wall and Ponce is only a few inches away from him. “Ponce, what is going on?” He asks. 

The look in Ponce’s eyes is nothing short of hot. A little angry, maybe, a little bit of something Jack can’t place, but hot. “What were you doing with those girls?” Ponce asks again, more insistent. 

“Nothing. Flirting.” Jack says, his voice getting noticeably weaker under Ponce’s gaze.

“What, so I can get you nice and fucked before you go out and take one of those girls home?” Ponce asks, and his voice is low the way it is when they’re about to have sex, and holy fuck is Jack excited.

Jack shakes his head. “Ponce, you know I wanted nothing to do with them.”

“Is that the way you feel about me?” Ponce asks, not meeting Jack’s gaze.

He shakes his head again. “No, Ponce, I want you,” and he’s practically gasping already, his voice already failing him, and Ponce hasn’t even kissed him yet.

Ponce swallows, meets Jack’s eyes, and his own eyes are softer now. “Is this okay? Do you want this?”

“Yes,” Jack says, “ _yes._ ” 

And that’s all Ponce needs. His eyes change again, darker and wanting, and he finally presses closer, taking Jack’s wrists in his hands. He pushes Jack up against the wall, firm enough that Jack forgets how to breathe for a second there, and presses both their wrists against the wall on both sides of Jack’s head, Ponce’s hands covering Jack’s.

“You know those girls,” Ponce says, his lips less than an inch away from Jack’s. His boots are still on, which is the only way he can be level with Jack, something Jack would find hilarious if he wasn’t ridiculously turned on. “You know the things they want from you are the same things I’m doing to you.”

Jack nods. 

Ponce shifts, places his leg in between Jack’s, rubbing Jack where he’s already mostly hard in his chinos, and Jack fucking whines. 

“Do you think about that?” Ponce asks him, pressing closer somehow, or maybe Jack is just so overwhelmed he can’t think of anything else. “How, when I fuck you into the mattress, they want you to do that to them? Or maybe they want you the same way I do, slack-jawed, begging for it?” His breath is ghosting against Jack’s cheeks, like maybe if Jack shifted to the side they’d be kissing. Jack shudders. 

He doesn’t even realize he isn’t responding until Ponce lets go of one of Jack’s wrists to move down, cupping his dick over his pants, rubbing his thumb down its length until Jack wants to shout. “Answer me, Jack.”

“No,” Jack says. 

“What do you think about?”

“You,” Jack answers immediately. As if he’d be able to think of anything else.

“Good boy,” Ponce says, and kisses him. 

This kiss is different from the other ones. It’s hard and fast and bruising and Ponce wastes no time before he’s playing with Jack’s lower lip with his teeth, and then Jack opens his mouth and Ponce deepens the kiss, kissing Jack like he’s trying to take him apart. Only once Jack feels like he can’t breathe does Ponce pull away, and Jack thinks it’s because he’s feeling the same way. He pants slightly, his lips already red and wet from kissing, and Jack can’t stop the blush that spreads over his face. 

“Are you okay, Jack?” Ponce asks, moving his hand to cup Jack’s face, his thumb rubbing Jack’s cheek reassuringly. “You’re gonna have to tell me if you want me to slow down, ‘s hard to stop myself.”

“Keep going,” Jack says, almost begs, “please, Ponce.” And then he moves his head ever-so-slightly so his lips line up with Ponce’s thumb, sucking it into his mouth while he looks into Ponce’s eyes and it’s so absolutely obscene that Ponce lets out a noise from the back of his throat. 

“Are you sure about this,” Ponce asks, and it’s a miracle his voice still works. 

“Yes,” Jack repeats. “I’m yours,” he says, kissing the tip of Ponce’s finger. 

“You’re mine,” Ponce repeats, almost dumbstruck. 

“I’m yours,” Jack says. 

Ponce almost breaks his nose with how fast he leans back in, kissing Jack with even more intensity, somehow. Jack is powerless beneath him, not that he’s complaining, and they’re kissing open-mouthed, sloppy, rough. “ _Mine,_ ” he breathes against Jack’s lips when he comes up for air, and Jack takes a deep breath, nods. 

“Bed, Ponce,” Jack says eventually, when he starts to think his legs are going to fail him. 

Ponce nods and steps away, hands immediately undoing his fly and trying to kick off his pants. They get caught on his boots, and he has to bend down to untie them, and Jack laughs at him as he pulls off his own clothes. But then they’re both naked, and Ponce is looking at Jack with that _look_ in his eyes, and Jack is breathless again. 

They wind up on the bed somehow, Ponce straddling Jack, his already hard dick pressing against Jack’s stomach, as they kiss. Ponce moves down in favor of Jack’s neck, pressing kisses along it while Jack gasps underneath him. 

“Leave marks,” Jack says. 

“On your neck?” Ponce asks. They’re not strangers to hickeys, but it’s always been under the collar, where nobody can see, hidden. 

Jack nods. “Show them I’m yours.” 

Ponce is in no place to argue because the sentence goes straight to his dick. So he spends extra time on Jack’s neck, biting and kissing and sucking until Jack is babbling underneath him, chest heaving. 

“Ponce, Ponce, _fuck,_ please,” he says, sucking in a breath. “Ponce, if you don’t stop I’m going to go insane.”

“I could deal with that,” Ponce says, lips against Jack’s neck. 

Jack keens.

“Okay, okay,” Ponce says, getting off of him. He moves down to Jack’s dick, barely giving any precursor before he takes it in his mouth, and Jack has to cover his mouth with his hand so he doesn’t scream. 

It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for Jack to cum like that, Ponce’s mouth around his dick the way he knows Jack likes it, still keeping the same intensity he’d kissed Jack with. Ponce pulls away when he knows Jack is close and Jack finishes harder than he probably ever has in his life, his moan of Ponce’s name muffled by the arm he’s had to fling over his mouth.

“I’m yours,” is the first thing Jack says once he’s regained the ability to think. He sits up, taking Ponce’s dick in his hands, and Ponce moans. “That’s it, Ponce. ‘M yours.” 

Ponce is also sitting up, so it’s easy for him to rest his head on Jack’s shoulder as Jack works him gently, slowly, until he finishes all over Jack’s hand and his fucking sheets which they’ve already had to wash three times this week, but they’re both too tired to care. 

“You’re mine,” Ponce says back, like he can’t believe it.

“Of course,” Jack says, leaning forward to kiss him again, soft and careful, loving.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr, if for some reason you want it, is lafayettesass


End file.
